


A Kiss Before Bed

by loveandpride1895



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, End of the World, Fluff, Fluffy Angst, Friends to Lovers, I've put no archive warnings because the end is ambiguous, M/M, but like..., implied mental health issues, it's an end of the world fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandpride1895/pseuds/loveandpride1895
Summary: When the Earth is set to be dust and ash, there's no point in things being left unsaid.Or, an asteroid may just be the catalyst for something that's been brewing for a long time.





	A Kiss Before Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Thanks for giving my fic a go. This is my first work in the phandom, so any readership is really encouraging! It goes without saying, but of course, Dan and Phil are merely characters in this work... Nothing I say is speculation, just creative writing! Comments would be much appreciated, and please let me know if you think I should adjust the tags, or anything else. Thanks again!

There wasn't, in fact, time for mankind to destroy themselves, as one may have expected. They destroyed, burned, dumped and ruined with no comeuppance. No element of, 'I told you so,' as perhaps there should have been. 

Maybe God just got tired. Bored. And used an old trick. A flick of the wrist, to obliterate a species. 

It's how the dinosaurs went, and it was being reused. 

There was a very large, very dense asteroid hurtling towards the Earth, and it was going to blow a hole the size of Mars right through core, killing everything and shattering the planet into ash, in three short months. Or three long months, depending on how anxious you were for it all to be over. 

And suddenly, it was all meaningless. Capitalism, making plans, gender roles. Science, progress, technology. Media, standards, the semi-colon. Everything. It didn't matter if you were rich or poor, on death row or an honours list. Whether you lived in Finland or Fiji. The asteroid was going to take you, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

And somehow, Dan Howell felt lighter than he'd ever felt. 

Somewhere, deep down and compressed into something dense and ugly, he felt very slightly smug. Because he was right... All those rants into the YouNow webcam lens about the inevitability of death, the vague nihilist comments, the things he mumbled into the stair carpet on dark nights as Phil hummed in an absent minded tone into a mug of coffee in the next room. They were all right. It didn't matter if you were a boy who liked boys, or a girl who liked girls, or if you didn't like putting yourself into boxes. Colour coding your children by putting them in separate cots was meaningless. So was hurting people. So was hating people. So was building walls. 

Because we're all members of one body, and we're all going to meet our end in a flash of colour that nobody will see. 

But surrounding that dense, ugly thing somewhere in Dan's veins were a thousand lighter particles, and they were all whispering the same two things, in a round arrangement, overlapping hauntingly and whining like an injured kitten. 

"I don't want to die."

(Because sometime along the line, he'd started deadpanning "I want death," on the gaming channel and stopped meaning it.)

And, "I don't want Phil to die."

(Because he suspected part of the reason.)

***

Manchester was beautiful from above, and it'd be floating in space like the rest of them in two months, three weeks and four days. 

They went to the sky bar, before the chaos descended. They weren't stupid, nobody was, and they were walking on eggshells and knew it. It was a fragile Earth, always had been really, but more so now. The population was split, some in the first stage of grief and smiling their way into work, others firmly descended into despair and sobbing on street corners. It was haunting, the weavers in stiletto heels and pencil skirts interspersed with the husks of people sucking vodka from bottles like it was air. 

Somehow, Dan thought, the smilers were a sadder sight. 

Phil was, by definition, one of them, which was like a dagger to the chest. He still wore dorky t-shirts and mis-matched socks and watered his house plants like a trooper. They filmed a gaming video, and he laughed in all the right places. 

Dan wanted to scream, wanted to tell him that it's okay to be sad, that even the fucking sun sets sometimes. 

But that dense thing in his veins began to multiply, into a much smaller, but certainly there 'I need this.' He needed Phil acting, needed normalcy, needed the things that were going to be inevitably demolished, just for a while. He hated himself for it, but Phil had saved him once, and seemed to be making a habit of it. 

They clinked glasses over a crumbling city, where people were already setting fire to things, and drank. Phil talked about editing, and Dan nodded dutifully, not saying much at all. The waiters grinned empty grins, and put their trays down with shaking fingers, and Dan ignored the fear behind Phil's eyes because that's all he could do. 

Then they left Manchester, left 'where it all started' on a train that was somehow still running on time. Someone was crying in the seat behind them, and the man in the toilet hadn't come out in three hours and didn't look likely to. Another man had given up on waiting for the toilet, and onto semblances of normalcy and was pissing out of the window. 

Still Phil smiled. 

They walked home as they always had, close but not getting any closer, and went to separate bedrooms. 

The end of the world grew closer, and the big thing in Dan's veins grew larger. 

***

The clock read 4:37, and Dan was, of course, already awake when his bedroom door creaked, and socked shuffling feet advanced across his floorboards. There was a heaviness in the room suddenly, that smelt like honesty, and Dan felt it deep in his lungs. He thought he may suffocate. He continued to stare at the ceiling, as Phil slipped under the covers beside him. 

A soft silence, during which Phil's chest moved up and down, and up and down, and the thing in Dan's veins throbbed. He sighed. 

"You can stop you know. I'm sorry I didn't say it before. But you can stop."

Phil didn't ask what he meant. 

"Thank you," he whispered.

They didn't talk about how they were in the same bed and to feel safe, because the world was ending and it was implied, or how scared they were, because the world was ending and it was implied. 

They also didn't talk about how they loved each other, because the world was ending, and Dan certainly hoped it was implied. 

They simply slept dreamless sleeps, basking in each other's body heat. 

***

They visited their families, while the roads were still usable. Phil took the train, and Dan took a taxi, driven by a man who looked like he was holding onto hope by his fingertips. They hugged briskly before leaving. As there always was when Phil went away, there was a creeping anxiety dripping into Dan's blood. But this time it wasn't monsters under the bed, or murderers hiding in the cupboard that he feared. It was something far, far deeper and far, far emptier. 

There was litter strewn across the motorway, and cars burning half-way in trees containing people who couldn't wait it out. A lot of people were still travelling, many likely doing what Dan and Phil were doing and others still struggling to work with plastic smiles. 

Dan gazed out of the window, watching the trees and the clumps of grass, and thinking about how they'd be ash like him soon. He could see tendrils of dust floating on the air, and tried not to think about how much denser that dust would be in three months. It would be made of the trees. Of the grass. Of the cars. Of the roads. 

(Of Phil.)

As the route became warmly familiar, and the roads emptier, the driving became more erratic. Dan's shoulder slammed into the door repeatedly, and he rubbed it gingerly. He leaned forwards, frowning and surveyed the driver. His forehead was crumpled in anger, and his mouth tight. His knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel, and his back was rigid. His eyes were staring and unseeing, and he wasn't watching the road. 

It's a funny thing, to fear for your life when you know it's approaching at breakneck speed anyway, but Dan did. He didn't want to die in a car, he wanted to go out in the Big Bang like everyone else. 

(With Phil.)

The driver slammed the breaks on, hard and screamed. Dan jumped violently, and his hand went to his neck where the seatbelt had dug into his skin. He watched with wide, fearful eyes as the driver let his head drop heavily onto the steering wheel, and let out a primal, guttural noise. Then, he dragged his head up, like it was made of lead, and turned to Dan with the eyes of a haunted man. 

"Fuck it. I'm sorry."

Dan closed his eyes, expecting the very worst. He waited for the road of the engine as he restarted the car. Waited for the rumbling of the road. Waited for the crash. Waited for the pain. 

But none of it ever came. The man simply got out of the car and, dragging his feet like his body weighed a thousand tons, began to walk back the way he'd came. Dan watched him go, with incredulous, wide eyes. He should laugh, he thought. That's what he should do. He tried. He couldn't. 

He dragged his hands down his face, and let out a very undignified whine. Then, he opened his door, slid into the front seat, and drove the rest of the way to his childhood home in what was essentially a stolen car. 

His mother smothered him and his brother. None of his extended family could make it, and Dan realised he'd never see them again. He wasn't as sad as he thought he'd be and he couldn't work out why. His father, tragically, was a smiler. Dan tried to indulge him, and smiled back, but years of existentialism had given him a sort of bland acceptance of the way things were. 

They ate a lot of cake, watched DVDs instead of the News and played board games. One night, they cried, curled up in the living room. Four sets of great, heaving sobs filling the room. It felt eventually, as though it would flood. 

Dan realised that if he resigned himself to decency, this is where he should spend the end of the world. With his 'real' family. 

But he never claimed to be a perfect person, and after three days, took his stolen taxi and drove home. 

The roads were so much dirtier, and so much emptier.

***

Phil was standing in the hallway when he arrived, just staring at the door. He was wearing tracksuit bottoms that dragged on the floor and a colourful t-shirt. His fringe was slightly dishevelled, and his glasses were perched on his nose. He wasn't smiling, his eyes were slightly vacant and Dan was relieved. There was an honesty on his face. A rawness. It may not have been happy, but given the circumstances, it was healthy. 

Dan smiled sadly, then wrapped his arms around him tightly. Phil squeezed back, and they could well have been one entity. 

"How long have you been there?" Dan whispered. 

Phil adjusted his arms, moving them down to Dan's waist. 

"Not too long. I only came back today. I missed you."

Dan smiled a little, then scoffed, "God, Phil. Three days."

Phil held him even closer. 

"End of the world, Dan."

"...yeah."

He almost couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that the world was ending when he was standing in the hallway of his cosy apartment, warm and safe. Surely, nothing could get him when he was in Phil's arms. 

This moment, it was the entire world, and it wasn't ending anytime soon. 

***

Phil continued to sleep in Dan's bed, and nothing was said about it. Phil's bedroom door remained tightly shut, as though it had always been that way. Their filming equipment was shut in there too, along with the memory card containing the gaming video they'd filmed just before the sky bar. They could release it on the last night, Dan thought. Then he realised that the Internet was unlikely to last that long. He sighed. 

They lay back to back, inches apart, until one night (two months and a day to go) Phil rolled over and tapped Dan on the back. 

"Dan?" He breathed into the darkness.

"Hmm?"

When Phil didn't reply, Dan sensed something heavy, and rolled over to meet his eyes. They were inky blue and intense in the low light, and Dan's vision blurred for a second, before his eyes refocused. Phil nibbled his lip thoughtfully for a second. Dan furrowed his eyebrows. 

"Phil?"

"Do..." He breathed in deeply, "Do you want to wait to the end? You're not planning to..."

Dan blinked, letting Phil's words and his trepidation as he trailed off sink into his brain. He hadn't thought this was a conversation they'd be having... It wasn't a very Phil thing to say. 

(He'd also rather hoped that it was implied that Phil had helped to breathe a life into him that meant that he wanted to experience every moment he was given.)

"Yes Phil, I'm sticking it out. I'm not planning to off myself in the next two months."

"And a day."

"And a day. No. Just no. Why?"

Phil shrugged minutely, shifting the bedsheets with his shoulders.

"Just... Seemed like a Dan thing to do. Go out with a bang."

"Nah. Too big of a procrastinator," he said as lightly as he could manage. Phil's eyes remained fixed in position, as though he hadn't heard. Dan poked him lightly on the cheek, and he met his eyes, "Why else?" 

"Just..." His voice was tiny. Even in the silent bedroom, Dan had to strain to listen, "If you'd wanted to do it, I wouldn't have let you... Alone."

There was no air in the room. 

"...oh."

There was so much more to say. So much more that could have been said. But then, Phil said, "Goodnight," and it sounded final. 

They slept facing each other, feeling warm breath on their noses. 

***

Law and order showed signs of breaking down after the two month mark was hit, and London became a frightening place. The sound of smashing windows became like white noise, shouts floated on the air more often than they didn't and smoke painted the skyline. For all the chaos, few sirens wailed, presumably because the end was so near that it didn't seem worth saving things.

Dan would have thought that it was quite the opposite. That the ticking clock meant that every ounce of life should be held onto and cherished and preserved. But what did he know. 

The shops were still open, but barely. They were staffed by the last of the smilers, whose smiles had become dejected, and it wasn't rare for people to just walk out without paying. Or indeed, for people to loot shamelessly. It was surprising though, and heartening that not everybody descended into that state of mind. 

Goodness weathered the storm it seemed, even when the storm was a deathly tornado hell bent on destruction.

Dan and Phil made a decision, to have one final shopping trip, to stock up, and then barricade themselves in the house and await the end. It was daunting. However much they joked about never leaving the house, the prospect of going under siege out of necessity had big, gaping connotations. Neither wanted to spend the last of their days stir crazy. But they'd heard horror stories. Madmen on the street that society didn't care about restraining anymore. Arsonists living their dream under crumbling circumstances. 

They both donned large coats, for some semblance of security, and headed out at around noon. The air was claggy, and slightly smoky, blocking out what would have been a gentle sun. Waste littered the pavements, which were streaked with oil and rotting leaves. Though the streets weren't deserted, many the people were like the living dead, walking without seeing and dragging their feet. Sharp people were still there, faces tight but content, and Dan couldn't help but notice that they seemed to come in pairs. He huddled closer to Phil.

They went to the same shop they always had, and it was the same but so so different. The aisles were all in the same place, promotional banners hung from the ceiling and attractive people smiled wide attractive smiles on billboards. But one of the displays has fallen over and nobody had bothered to pick it up, more of the ceiling lights were smashed than were not and the tills were deserted. 

This was not one of the shops that had managed to weather the storm. 

They both tiptoed along, as though afraid of shattering the floor. They made straight for the instant rice, and noodles, and things in tins that they could use right to the end. Quickly, the bags grew heavy, and they realised that their pact to avoid a return visit was a dangerous one. Neither suggested changing it. They had full cupboards. 

With much less food than would have made them feel comfortable in their siege, they left. 

And because Phil is a wonderful person, and because the habits of a smiler die hard, he left a wad of notes on one of the tills.

"In case somebody comes back," he said, although he knew they wouldn't. 

***

Because Phil is immensely sensible, he suggested doing a ring-around while the phone lines were still up. So they set up camp in the living room, and made a list of all the people they needed to say goodbye to. 

Their families came first, obviously. Then came Louise, and Tyler, and Cat, And Zoe, and Joe, and countless other of their friends. They didn't know they had so many... Hadn't realised what a personal outreach as well as an Internet-wide one their content had achieved. 

They made all the phone calls together, on speaker phone, and the tone changed each time. Some were dark, some were ignoring the inevitable, and some, thank god, were calmly accepting. There was some screaming, and some crying and some 'I wish I'd known you both better. I wish we'd done more.' There was even the odd, brutally honest, 'I never actually liked you that much.' But there was also a fair amount of 'thank you for what we were given.'

They reached the end of their list, and sat back against the sofa, spent and exhausted. They didn't make it to bed that night, falling asleep against the backdrop of the words that had been said.

And the next morning, because Phil is notoriously psychic as well as immensely sensible (with a month, three weeks and two days to go) the phone lines crashed, and their world was limited to their apartment. 

They didn't need anyone else, they tried to tell themselves, and for some reason it worked. 

***

Dan and Phil spent a day sticking their soundproofing tiles to the windows, and then dragged one of the chairs from the living room in front of the door. It was better to have the illusion of safety, than the prospect of sorriness. 

By the time the day was gone, so was the Internet. 

And Dan unashamedly cried his fucking eyes out. Giant, ugly hacking sobs that shook the sofa where he sat, legs folded under his torso. His face was buried in his hands, and Phil's hand was on his shoulder, thumb rubbing up and down gently.

"It's okay Dan. You'll live without Tumblr. It's all okay."

"No... It's not..." He moved his hands away, to take a deep breath and gulp, "It's not that at all. It was. You don't... You don't..." He trailed off.

Phil was silent for a moment, then the corner of his mouth turned up.

"I think I do."

There was more silence, and Dan continued to sob, and gasp. He gathered himself after a moment, and dug his fingertips into his eyes. He ran his hands down his face, to rid them of the tear tracks, then opened his mouth to ask Phil to explain. 

But at that moment, Phil broke the silence anyway, with a quiet melancholy singsong. 

"Without the internet... We never would have met."

And yeah. He did.

***

"Do you want to film a video?" Phil asked, as the sun was setting and the one month, two weeks mark was hit. Dan gave him a look. 

"There's no internet anymore, Phil."

"I know. A video for us."

Dan crossed his legs, into a pixie type position, and tugged his 'sad pimp' blanket close around his shoulders where it hung. 

"What about."

Phil smiled lightly, with a twinge of sadness that seemed to seep into everything these days. 

"Like I say. A video for us, about us. Talk about the beginning," he mimed a ski slope in the air, "Take it to the end."

"I don't know... It'll feel really... Final."

"Is that not good? Is it not good to end things sometimes."

Dan let his eyes grow heavy, and gave Phil a loaded, stony gaze. 

"Not when it comes to you. Never."

"...okay."

They made the video anyway. 

They talked about Skype calls, and Sky Bars, and Q&A series that failed, and ones that worked. Manchester, then London, then London again. Radio shows, stage shows, crowds, buses. Japan, New York, Australia. Stifled laughs and loud, unapologetic laughs. The shift from 'I' to 'we.' 

And then, they ended it by chinking glasses of Ribena, and saying cheers to the future. 

***

Another night. 

Another shared bed. 

Another whispered conversation. 

"Don't you think..." it began, and then it seemed to be over. 

A silence, that felt like an interval. 

"Don't I think what?"

"That..."

Phil trailed off again, so Dan shifted closer to bridge the gap that seemed to be silencing him.

"That what?"

A sigh that was half a question and half an affirmation followed. 

"Everything has a sense of urgency now."

"That because... well... there is," Dan didn't elaborate, because it was too sad, and too real, "What makes you say that?"

Another silence, in which the air seemed to coagulate and grow heavy. The darkness became sharper, and the bedsheets heavier.

"Phil?"

A heavy swallow.

"Before, didn't it feel like we had all the time in the world?"

"...yeah."

"And we don't."

"No."

"Not at all."

And then he leaned over and kissed him.

***

Lips touched lips, skin touched skin, heart touched heart. It happened under the cloak of darkness, in a room that should have been 'ours' not 'mine' long before tragedy hit. A hand moved to cup the back of a neck, gently but confidently, and another snaked around a waist. 

There was warmth, and friendship, and so, so much love.

If it wasn't implied before, it certainly was now. 

It somehow felt foreign, and also like the most natural thing in the world. 

And suddenly, there was a shred of hope on a crumbling earth, and a sense that though the world was ending, in a London flat with curved walls and far too many house plants, a very small world was just beginning. 

***

They kissed a lot now. It just seemed to seep into their daily routine, as though it had been there all along. A kiss in the morning, a kiss before bed. A kiss over breakfast, a kiss over dinner. A kiss because one of them was laughing so hard that they couldn't breathe, and a kiss because one of them was feeling the crushing weight of impending nothingness. 

When they kissed, it was almost easy to forget what was coming. To forget that each morning and each night was a countdown. To forget that each dinner was a checkpoint, and to ignore that they'd started having tinned sweet corn, or tuna for breakfast as the fridge became empty for the last time. To forget that the laughter wouldn't laugh forever, and that the impending nothingness wasn't going away. 

If he was honest with himself, this was what Dan had wanted all along. When he was Skyping his distant idol from his childhood bedroom, and when he was screaming on their kitchen floor because he didn't give a fucking fuck about university anymore, and when they played love songs on the radio show. When he laughed choking, gasping laughs on the gaming channel. Every goddamn time he looked into Phil's confusing, wonderful multicoloured eyes.

But he wasn't honest with himself, so he just told himself that the world was ending, and the gods had given him something beautiful that he hadn't even known he'd wanted. 

He had a month to enjoy it. 

***

Dan awoke to an empty bed one morning, something that hadn't happened since before the world went to shit, and felt much colder than one should under a thick duvet. 

He and Phil had always been codependent, pining after each other on lonely VidCon panels, and FaceTiming their way through radio shows, but the itching they felt for each other in their veins had certainly intensified. Phil's body heat felt like safety, Dan realised, and that was a thing in short supply. 

Dan stumbled down the stairs, hair sticking up at ridiculous angles, and eyes crusted with sleep. As he neared the kitchen, he heard a running tap. 

Phil was at the sink, filling a water bottle. Next to him on the counter, lines of full bottles in an army formation were clustered, covering the surface. Dan frowned. 

(He also leaned over the counter and kissed Phil gently on the lips, because that was a thing he did now.)

"Don't tell me you're losing your mind just yet. I thought we could just about make it another three weeks."

"Never make assumptions, Danny," he said with a soft smile, before changing his tone to a more serious one, "Granny Lester's psychic powers are speaking to me again. I don't know that running water is going to be around for much longer."

Dan nodded slowly. 

"That makes sense. I'd go with the logical progression of breakages, taking into account the loses of mod-cons over the past couple of weeks over'Granny Lester,' but whatever keeps us alive I suppose." He shrugged, then added, "Use the washing up bowls too. And the saucepans we're not using for food. Maybe even the bath too."

Phil nodded. 

"Good idea. God, all those weird survival games have been good to you haven't they. And don't bash physic Granny Lester. Her powers predicted you, remember?"

"Apparently so."

***

"Should we have done this before?"

"This?"

Dan kissed him on the tip of his nose.

"This."

Phil smiled softly.

"I don't think we needed to. The love was there, we didn't need to do the kissing thing and the bed sharing thing to see that. It's just nice to kiss you at the end of the world."

"It would have been nice to kiss you when the world wasn't ending."

"This'll just have to do."

"Though I suppose the world was always ending, just a bit faster now."

"That's the spirit."

***

At two and a half weeks to go, the running water stopped. At two weeks, so did the electricity. It was a surefire sign that even the smilers had given up. Just... Gone home, to wait out oblivion. 

Or perhaps, everyone was already dead. 

The flat wasn't dark all the time - light still crept through the cracks between the soundproofing tiles during daylight hours. It wasn't silent either... They could still hear the rumble of life outside their window. And the screams. But not often. 

The conclusion to be drawn was that either everyone was like them, waiting it out in the safety of their homes, or that they were the resilient ones, and everyone else had taken a proverbial gun to the head. 

Dan liked not knowing... It meant that he could believe the former. 

The useless candles they'd acquired over the years finally found a purpose, lighting the corners of the flat that the sunlight couldn't reach, and the hours that the moon was powerless to illuminate. They drank out of the water bottles first, when they were thirsty only... Any semblance of a routine was abandoned in favour of listening to their bodies. 

They were far less clean than they would be were the world not ending, a smell lingering in the nooks and crannies of their bodies, because drinking the water that they'd saved was far more important than washing with it. They relented sometimes though, when a light that looked a lot like when life was stretching out ahead of them crept through the cracks, and they wanted something resembling functionality. For the most part though, it didn't matter because they smelt like each other, both slightly disgusting, and they were the only ones there. And anyway, beneath the grime, Phil still smelt like Phil, and Dan still smelt like Dan, and Dan could smell Phil on Phil, and Phil could still smell Dan on Dan. 

They read books, and drew pictures, and Dan played sad songs on the piano, and Phil scrambled them with his fingers until Dan would play something happy. 

It worked. 

They also had a lot of desperate, end of the world sex. 

They did it because the electricity and the wifi was down, and because they loved each other. 

They didn't talk about it, because they didn't need to. 

Nothing fundamental had changed. 

They were still Dan and Phil, just with an apocalypse and sex. 

***

"Phil?"

"Hmm?"

"I'll miss you when I'm dead."

"No you won't."

"I will."

"I won't exist anymore, and I'll still find a way to miss you."

"That makes precisely no sense. And anyway, there might be a life after this one, and if there is we'll be together."

"Phil... you're a literal Angel. We both know where I'm heading."

"You can abandon the branding Dan, the world's ending. You've grown so much. I'd say the gates to heaven are pretty likely to open for you too."

"Hmm..."

"See... A few years ago you'd have argued with that. Daniel Howell, poster boy for nihilism, atheism and every other miserable realist 'ism' entertaining the idea of heaven."

"Guess whose fault that is."

Phil smiled. 

***

"It's today."

"Yeah."

"Let's have sex."

"Yeah."

And they did. Bodies melting like bleeding watercolours, warm and intimate and perfect. Phil put his hand between Dan's shoulder blades, and he felt a shiver reverberate down his spinal column and down his nerves, lighting up his body like a bonfire. He may have been crying by then, and so may have Phil, but that didn't matter. It just enhanced the watercolour metaphor, making them seem like a masterpiece in the corner of a quickly dying world. 

They pulled apart slowly, but not too far apart. Foreheads pressed together, as though they could stop each other from breaking.

They didn't get out of bed. 

***

"Goodnight Dan."

"Goodnight Phil."

***

**Author's Note:**

> I have one of those tumblr things now. Come say hi! http://loveandpride1895.tumblr.com/


End file.
